


There Was A Star Danc'd

by loopyhoopyfrood



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: AU, Cyclist Jack, Dancer Phryne, Gen, I'm British I don't know, Strictly come dancing au, or whatever the Australian equivalent is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-10-11 00:37:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10451097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loopyhoopyfrood/pseuds/loopyhoopyfrood
Summary: Jack thought that nine months of cycling training was the hardest thing he would ever do. Phryne seems determined to prove him wrong.Neither of them are leaving the room until their waltz is perfect.





	1. Rise and Fall

**Author's Note:**

> My submission for the Bottle Episode challenge. What can I say, I just really like odd AUs.  
> I will say that I know very little about ballroom dancing, cycling, or these kinds of TV shows, so some suspension of disbelief may be required.  
> Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> _Title from Much Ado About Nothing, Act 2, Scene 1_

Two years ago, when Jack spent nine months training for the tour de France, he had been convinced that he was pushing his body to its absolute limit. Now, heel on the barre and arm outstretched, he was quickly coming to realise that he had never been more wrong.

“Point your toes!”

Fighting a grimace, Jack obeyed the barked order, avoiding meeting his tormentor’s gaze in the large mirror. He’d been cycling since he was seven years old, and training seriously since he was fifteen. For the past ten years he’d practically lived either at the gym or in the saddle. This really shouldn’t be this hard.

“ _Stretch_ Jack, you’re supposed to be warming up, not striking a pose.”

Gritting his teeth, Jack forced his arm further away from him, suppressing a groan at the ache that burned in his shoulder. Although usually a well-mannered man, he couldn’t help silently mouthing a curse as his muscles burned and he wished, not for the first time, that he’d never said yes to this damn idea.

He’d never even seen the show before he signed up, having never quite understood the appeal of watching b-list celebrities embarrass themselves on national television, but then all of a sudden his invitation had arrived, and he wasn’t sure whether he should be flattered they’d thought of him or dismayed that he’d apparently sunk that low. He’d said no, of course, but then Hugh wouldn’t stop going on about the _exposure_ and the _good publicity_ and _you need something to keep you busy, sir, what with the season being over_ and without really knowing quite how it happened Jack found himself signing a contract and thinking he should probably find out exactly what he’d let himself in for.

A week of binge watching professional dancers attempt to train washed up pop stars and television presenters and he’d foolishly started to think that it really couldn’t be all that hard. Admittedly, Jack’s only ballroom experience consisted of half a term of formal dance in his high school PE lessons, but he had good sense of rhythm and liked to think he moved fairly gracefully. Plus, he was no stranger to long days of intense physical training.

It turned out it really _could_ be that hard.

As he completed his warm up and was immediately swept into the week’s dance, Jack prepared himself for yet another gruelling day. So far he’d somehow survived a month and four eliminations, and he was pretty sure he’d have preferred another nine months of cycling. He was spending over fourteen hours a day contorting his body into positions he was convinced shouldn’t be legal and stretching his limbs until he could barely even make it back to his car. He repeated each week’s routine until he was sick to death of the entire thing, and then a couple more times to be safe. Every single move he made was picked to pieces, he was berated for every tiny fault, and his assigned partner had even started to give him _homework_.

He was pretty sure Phryne Fisher was the devil.

She was also the most gorgeous woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

If only she would stop yelling at him.

“Head up!”

The demand startled him and his feet stumbled, missing a beat. He slipped back into the dance quickly, such fumbles no longer throwing his entire routine off, but he silently cursed. He knew Phryne well enough by now to know that the slight twitch of her mouth meant she’d noticed and she wasn’t happy.

The dance finally came to an end, and Jack couldn’t resist slumping to the floor, grabbing a water bottle and hardly bothering to aim for his mouth as he poured the cool liquid over his face. Following it with a quick wipe with his towel, he waited for the inevitable critique.

“What was that?”

Composure regained, Jack raised an eyebrow.

“What was what, Fisher?”

“You know what.”

Phryne held out a hand, and he tossed her the water bottle. Still glaring at him, she sipped it slowly, her lips capturing the rim and leaving traces of her signature red lipstick…

“That whole thing was a damn mess!”

Jack tore his gaze away from her mouth, keeping his face neutral even as he felt blood rush to his cheeks. The part of his mind that seemed to belong to a horny teenager fled as he refocused on her eyes, and he quickly returned to seriousness as he recognised the glint of warning. He was used to irritation at his many mistakes, but this was different. Phryne was seriously angry.

“Your back wasn’t straight, I have no idea what you were trying to do with your arms, and would it kill you to at least look as if you’re enjoying yourself?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care about _sorry_ Jack, I care about getting this dance right. You CANNOT be missing steps this late in the week!”

“It was one fumble-”

“One too many!” Phryne stepped closer, throwing the water bottle to one side. He was used to her outbursts, had seen her passion for dance and learnt not to take them personally, but today was something different.

“We have two days to get this right Jack, and you’re dancing like an amateur.”

“Technically I am an amateur.”

The tightening of her mouth told him immediately that joking was the wrong move. Apparently now was not the time for the teasing, sometimes he would almost say flirtatious, relationship Jack had found it all too easy to slip into.

“No, you’re a competitor Jack, so fucking COMPETE!”

Jack was pretty sure his dance hadn’t been _that_ bad, but the fact that Phryne had resorted to cursing told him that arguing would really not be in his best interest. Instead he stood, loosening the tie that apparently made up part of the week’s costume.

“I’m sorry. We’ll get this, I promise.” Phryne was always intense, and he wouldn’t have her any other way, but right now he needed a break. “Look, it’s already one. Why don’t we take a break for lunch and come back to it fresh?”

He bent down and picked up his bag, swinging it over his shoulder as he grabbed his towel and stood. He headed for the door, already wondering what the canteen would be offering today, only for an arm to reach out and slam the door shut before he had even reached it. He sighed and opened his mouth, but before he could speak a sharp nail was poking his chest and Phryne’s furious gaze was boring into him.

“No. We are not leaving this room until this dance is PERFECT.”


	2. Progression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry that this took me so long! I swear I meant to continue this fic months ago. Let's blame my dissertation. I hope I've managed to make it worth the wait.

“Stop!”

Jack sighed and dropped his hand from where it rested at Phryne’s waist, resisting the urge to glance once again at the clock. The lack of light outside the window told him that his fellow competitors would have called it a day hours ago, and yet he was still stuck in the studio, repeating the same steps over and over again. Phryne still hadn’t let him reach the end of the dance.

“Your box step was out of time.”

Phryne had given up yelling at him hours ago. By now she barely even managed disappointment, instead issuing critique with a cold detachment that worried Jack even more. At least when she was angry he knew she still cared.

“Let me guess,” He snorted, unable to contain his sarcasm, “Again from the top?”

“Exactly.”

Phryne stalked across the room, barely sparing Jack a glance as she took up position in the centre of the floor. Jack sighed, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he dragged his reluctant body to join her. A press of the remote stowed in her pocket cued the music, but Jack barely made it past the first bar before his exhaustion got the better of him and he stumbled. He didn’t even bother trying to continue.

“Again.” Phryne snapped, not even bothering to point out his mistake. Resetting the music, she returned to their starting position and waited impatiently for Jack to join her. He didn’t.

“I said again.”

“Phryne, maybe we should take a break?” Jack tried to make it sound like a polite suggestion, but he had a feeling it came out more like pleading than anything else.

“We can take a break when you get this routine right.”

Phryne glared at him from across the room, but Jack didn’t back down. He’d had enough.

“I’m not going to get it right. Phryne, we’ve been here for nearly twelve hours.” Jack took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, trying to expel his frustration and keep his voice level. “We should just call it a day and pick it up again tomorrow.”

“We should, should we?” Phryne’s eyes were narrowed, and Jack could tell she was getting angry again. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Yes!”

“You’re not the trainer here Jack!”

“And you’re not thinking straight!”

Jack’s attempt to keep calm had failed. Harsh training regimes he could cope with, but Phryne was taking it too far. He didn’t know what had gotten into her, but it was about time it stopped.

“None of this is helping, Phryne! You can’t run someone ragged for hours and expect them not to make mistakes!”

“I’ll run my training sessions however I like!”

The look in Phryne’s eyes was telling Jack to drop it. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the fact that he was finally getting a response with some emotion to it that made him refuse.

“This is completely ridiculous!”

“Two days Jack! And you can’t even get a fucking box step right.”

“I’m not a machine! We skipped lunch, you won’t allow breaks, hell, you won’t even allow me out the room to get water!”

“If you weren’t prepared for the reality you shouldn’t have signed up for the show in the first place!”

“Reality?! I’m used to hard trainings Phryne, but this is stupid.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t make it to the end of the dance.”

“And it’s not my fault you’re a bloody perfectionist!”

The space between them had shrunk as they yelled, unconsciously invading each other’s personal space until their faces were only a few inches apart. They glared at each other, neither willing to back down, and a small part of Jack’s brain found itself registering the scent of French perfume that somehow still clung to Phryne despite their day of activity.

“I’m not going to apologise for wanting to get this right!”

“You didn’t care this much about any of the other dances!” Jack’s frustration was still bubbling, overriding any attempt he made to calm himself. “Why is this one so damn important!?”

“Because it was Janey’s favourite!”

Phryne’s eyes widened as the words she shouted registered, and she clasped a hand over her mouth. Jack barely noticed, still caught up in angry frustration.

“Who the hell is Janey?!”

Silence. Phryne continued to stare at him. Jack waited for her to yell back at him, but it never happened. Instead she spun on her heel and stalked away from him, sinking down in front of the mirrored wall. A low, guttural noise escaped her, and it took Jack a long moment to realise that it was a sob.

“Phryne?”

All of Jack’s anger had dissipated immediately. He’d spent near enough every day for the past month with Phryne, and in all that time he’d seen her angry, frustrated, determined, flirtatious, pissed off…

He’d never, ever, seen her cry.

He stood awkwardly where she’d left him, for once completely unsure how to react. The sound of her sobs echoed round the otherwise silent room, and Jack stared at his feet, feeling like an intruder yet reluctant to leave her. He desperately wanted to go to her, to wrap his arms around her and offer what comfort he could, but the fact that just moments ago they’d been stood screaming at each other stopped him. Whatever it was he had said, he was pretty sure it made him the last person she’d want near her.

After a significant period spent examining the toes of his shoes, he slowly realised that Phryne’s sobs were subsiding. Cautiously, he raised his head. Her reflection was wiping its eyes, and as their gaze met in the mirror she didn’t look away. Taking that as acceptance, he slowly walked across the room and sat down by her side.

“Was.”

“Was?” Jack’s voice was soft, still cautious of saying the wrong thing. Phryne kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, meeting her own gaze, and when she spoke Jack wasn’t entirely sure she was speaking to him.

“Who _was_ Janey. Not is. She was my sister.”

“You don’t have to-” Jack began awkwardly, but Phryne didn’t seem to be listening. The words flowed from her unhaltingly, although Jack couldn’t tell if that was because she wanted to speak, or because if she stopped she wouldn’t be able to continue.

“She was only ten. She loved to dance, would steal mother’s heels from her closest and make me twirl her round the yard. I would sneak us into the Melbourne Ballroom and we would watch from the balcony, trying to copy the dancers below. The waltz was always her favourite.”

Jack didn’t speak. Instead he gently reached out and placed his hand over hers as they lay in her crossed legs, hoping the gesture would go some way towards expressing everything he couldn’t say. He didn’t expect a response, but Phryne surprised him by turning her hand to lace her fingers through his, gripping his hand with a fierceness that drove all colour from his skin.

“She was murdered.”

“Shit.”

The curse slipped out, but Phryne didn’t even seem to notice.

“We were at the circus.” Her grip had become even tighter, her nails digging grooves into the back of Jack’s hand. “I snuck us in, we couldn’t afford the tickets. Janey didn’t even want to go, but I promised candyfloss.”

Jack could hear the pain in her voice as she spoke, and he couldn’t help but shift closer, rubbing circles on her skin with his thumb in an attempt at a small measure of comfort.

“We’d found a loose section of the tent and crawled underneath. I got so caught up watching the show, I didn’t even notice her leave.

“We never found her. Just one of the ribbons from her pigtails, it must have fallen when he grabbed her.”

“I’m so sorry Phryne.”

Jack wondered if he should untangle his fingers and wrap his arm around her instead, but she was still clutching his hand as if it were the only thing anchoring her. Instead he squeezed, trying to pour all of his horror and sympathy into that one gesture. Phryne squeezed back. When she spoke again, the words emerged with an acceptance born of years of guilt.

“It was all my fault.”

“No.” It took Jack a moment to respond, but when he did his voice held no room for arguments. Phryne failed to respond, still avoiding his gaze. Gently yet firmly, Jack used his free hand to cup her cheek, turning her face to look him in the eye.

“Listen to me. It was not your fault Phryne.”

The look on her face as she processed his words broke his heart. It was as if no one had ever told her before, as if she’d just had one of the foundations of her beliefs pulled out from underneath her. He found himself drawing her closer, the space between them narrowing to mere inches. Part of him wondered what he was doing, part of him didn’t care.

He didn’t get chance to find out. Something clicked in Phryne’s head, popping the bubble that had seemed to surround them, and in an instant she was tearing her fingers from Jack’s and pulling her face away. When she looked back at him any previous vulnerability was gone, replaced with a cool professionalism.

“I’m sorry for today’s training.” Phryne said, drawing herself to her feet and turning her back as she walked away, stretching out her cramped limbs. Jack wasn’t fooled.

“Phryne-”

“You can go. Have a lie in, we’ll start late tomorrow.”

Phryne heard Jack stand, and waited for his footsteps to echo away from her. Instead, they came closer. She ignored it even as they stopped, continuing her stretches as she waited for him to leave. He didn’t.

Annoyed and embarrassed, Phryne spun to face him. He was waiting for her, and she watched in surprise as he sunk into a deep bow. Straightening up, Jack held out his hand.

“Miss Fisher.” He asked. “May I have this dance.”


End file.
